Shards of Stone
by Glorfindel's Girl
Summary: Escape into her own mind is kinder than reality as she recalls the last years of Gondolin and life under the Curse.  Formerly 'When My Life Begins Anew'.
1. Chapter 1

**Shards of Stone**

**By SarahFish**

**Prologue: Dreaming of Beginning**

What is waking, and what is dream? She knew once. Yet as she walks the streets of a deserted city, her footfalls the only noise breaking profound silence, she cannot be sure. She passes elaborate fountains which must have flown with glittering water once, but now stand silent and crumbling. As she walks past, she glances into the basin, catches a glimpse of dried water-plants, of dusty fish bones long ago picked clean by scavengers.

Out of the corner of her eye she senses movement. She turns, sees a shadowy figure materialize and dart around a corner. She picks up her pace, following.

What is truth, and what is illusion? On the wind she thinks she hears laughter. A child's laugh. A strange thing in this solemn, abandoned place. Yet, again, there is a glimpse of someone far ahead, running through the empty streets. But they turn, disappearing into an alleyway. The road stretches out before her, the alley an impossible distance, fading away even as she watches.

_Melia_.

The word comes from the stones themselves. Breathed by the very city.

She is running now, but her feet slip, unable to gain traction. When she glances down, the streets are red with blood. It flows over her feet, a sluggish river staining the hem of her robe. The sky overhead turns black, and lightning splits the sky in two.

Fire - surrounding her, consuming her, unimaginable pain permeating every fiber of her being. She is burning, burning! And she cannot escape. She cries out into the darkness, and suddenly is falling, plummeting an impossible distance.

She lands, not in blood and flame she expects, but upon a soft, damp surface. Grass. A meadow. It soothes her wounds and smells of life.

The night sky spins above her, the course of a thousand stars blended together into an infinitely repeating spiral. The moon streaks across the sky, waxing, waning...the path of a thousand years traced in a few seconds. Fact? Delusion?

_Melia._

Again, not spoken, but breathed by the trees, the grass, the very earth.

Dizzy, she stands, and the spinning heavens slow, finally ceasing to spin. The moon hovers impossibly close, shining with a brilliant light. It casts a silver glow upon her, and whispers secrets to her.

She is not alone.

He stands a short distance away. Dark hair obscures his face, and as she reaches to him, he turns, his hair caught in a sudden gust of wind. As the wind dies, his hair turns to silver…gold…some strange shade that is both and neither. As their eyes lock, he begins to weep. His tears are of blood.

She feels dampness upon her cheeks, and her fingers come away stained red. Deception? Illusion?

He reaches for her, stretching fingers across an endless void, groping, blinded by blood. His eyes burn red, lit by some unholy inner fire, and she is suddenly afraid.

_Melia_. It seems she should know the word, yet thoughts slip her mind like sand through her fingers. Darkness, spiraling around her. Here, no line between dream and reality. They are all in one, and they are all contained in her.

"Melia…_Melia_…"

She stirs, moving from one darkness into another, briefly aware of cold stone beneath her chest, of soothing hands upon torn and blistered flesh. There is a name that belongs to the hands….if only she could remember….if only….

She manages to open her eyes to soft orange candle light. A shadowy figure hovering far too near.

Terrified, she lashes out and shrieks in pain. Her body is aflame, she thinks, and she cannot extinguish it.

"Sh..sh..sh." A voice in the darkness, cutting through her agony. "Melia, Melia. You're badly hurt. You have to let me help you."

A pair of hands are upon her own; small, soft hands that soothe her blistered skin with salve and cool water. In the candle light, she cannot quite distinguish the speaker, and knows her best by her comforting touch. The woman's fingers catch scorched flesh, and she screams, her vision going white.

And then comes the light. Golden light spilling over her hands. Her skin is almost translucent, glowing from within. His hands are gentle as he takes the ring, wrapping the band in silk thread to keep it from slipping off her newly bony fingers. He'd had it crafted before their Tribulation, not thinking, not realizing... It had been a secret ring. A special ring. He slips it back on her tiny finger, and it is still too loose. A laugh. A kiss. A reminder that it matters little, for in a few months time it will fit properly. A cloud passes over the sun, and it is dark…dark…

"…You remember the stories you used to tell me, Melia? Do you remember the Houses? The Sparrow and the Heavenly Arch. The Fountain and the Golden Flower. The Hammer of Wrath and the Pillar…"

She opens her eyes again, and the words continue. But they make no sense to her. She cannot piece them together. There is someone beside her, that much she knows. She is still in agony.

"…And the City? Do you remember the City, and the passwords for the seven gates? And which lord wrought which gate? Or if not that, remember the high meadow where you used to train…" a pause. "Or do you even remember _yourself_ any more? I wonder…"

Someone touches her shoulder, and she tries to get away. Pain cuts through her body as she moves, crawling hand over hand to escape. She is not fast enough, though, and is caught. She screams, in fear and agony. The answering voice is calm, quiet.

"Melia! Shh. Do you not _know_ me? It is Kamalla. It is only me. I am the only one here. And I am only here to help you."

The hands on her body are gentle but firm and she finds herself laid out on a clean pallet. A cup held to her lips. It reminds her of _something_…something she should remember…a feeling of fiery warmth in her body which does not burn, but envelops…

"Drink, Melia. It is to ease the pain. To help you sleep."

The liquid is cool on her parched throat. And within moments she is spiraling down into darkness once more. A darkness that is blessedly without dream.

Kamalla weeps softly as the broken figure goes limp in her arms, slipping into a deep, drugged sleep. Melia is little more than a skeleton any more, her bones so fragile feeling beneath her skin – skin which is more often than not torn, blistered, and bruised. Kamalla remembers when the woman's hair was long and golden. Now it is so matted and caked with filth that there is no discernable colour. She can call to mind far too many nights, like this one, when Melia had been tortured, brought to the brink of death. A death that would, perhaps, be a blessing. But Lord Annatar will never permit it. Someday he may grow weary of his favorite plaything. But until then, her life is his.

Gently, Kamalla lays her down on the pallet, and gathers her things. She spares once backward glance before closing the iron door to her cell and locking it. Exhausted…frightened of being caught tending to Melia again, she hurries upstairs to her chamber.

Duties keep her from checking in on Melia until the next evening. When she enters the cell, she does not see her at first. She is momentarily frightened – had she died? Had Annatar found out about her ministrations and moved Melia to another cell? Then…a sound. And suddenly, she sees her.

Kamalla finds her curled in the corner, skeletal arms wrapped around her emaciated body. At first she thinks she is weeping, and it is only as the kneels beside the pitiful figure that she can distinguish her words.

"My name is Melia…My name is Melia….My name is Melia…"

Kamalla reaches out…touches her on the shoulder. The woman jumps, startled. She looks up, and for the first time in….too long….Kamalla sees recognition filling those sky blue eyes.

And then…she speaks.

"Kamalla…I _remember_."

* * *

_Author's note: All places and non-original characters are property of the estate of J.R.R Tolkien. I am not profiting in any way from the printing of this story._


	2. Chapter 2

**Shards of Stone**

_By SarahFish_

**Chapter 1: Birth**

The wind came from the north that evening, and though the spring solstice was but a few days away, it carried the dark echo of winter, and brought a chill to Aheryn's bones. She shuddered, drinking deeply from the steaming cup cradled between her palms. The tea burnt a scalding path down her throat, but could not drive away the cold. Those who had felt the bitter winds of the Helcaraxë never forgot.

Somewhere, she knew, a warm breeze caressed sandy shores, waves washing endlessly over the coast. Closing her eyes, she tilted her face towards the heavens. Almost she could hear gulls crying overhead, feel the pounding surf. Then the babe within her stirred, and the ocean faded away, replaced by mountains, white stone gleaming in the summer sunlight as she opened her eyes.

Had it really been a year? It seemed not so, and yet, as the child stirred in her womb, it felt an eternity.

The wife of a lord should be joyous so near to the birth of their firstborn, she thought. Yet even as she did, the babe within her stirred once more, and she found her throat tight. Blood red hair whipped around her body, almost painful in the fierce wind. Aheryn shuddered, blinking back tears.

"I do not want this child," she whispered to the gale. She dared not voice the rest of her thoughts.

Instead she took another draught from her tea, and found it had cooled. The taste was bitter, and she had to force herself to swallow. Her stomach lurched in protest. Disgusted, she poured the rest over the balcony's edge, watching it splash onto the stone courtyard below. As though laughing at her, the child moved in her belly again. Tears burned her eyes, and she could no longer hold them back. Leaning heavily against the stone railing, she wept.

"Uruitë?"

Aheryn started at her husband's voice, coming from somewhere close inside their home. Hastily, she rubbed her tears away, struggling to regain composure as his footsteps neared.

"Here you are," he said, half to himself, emerging from the bedroom onto the terrace.

Aheryn smiled, and fought herself to keep from pulling away from his touch as he came to her side. Her husband returned the smile, his sky blue eyes glittering as always with some inner joy.

And for just a brief second, she hated him for it.

"Uruitë," he murmured, twining one of her blood-red curls around a finger. His name for her brought back memories of simpler times. Happier days before the Shadow. Before the frozen hell. Before exile.

She smiled, almost genuinely this time, running a hand through his hair. "Glorfindel," she murmured. It was an old game.

Glorfindel's eyes darkened. "Aheryn your skin is like ice. Come. Let's get you inside."

Before she could protest, Aheryn found herself led into the dark warmth of the house, an obedient servant catering to her husband's concern.

Downstairs, in the fire-lit kitchen, Glorfindel saw her seated at the table while he spooned some stew into a bowl for her. The aroma rising from the bubbling pot was spicy and rich, the stew that he placed before her full of grains and vegetables. Aheryn stirred her spoon around the bowl, chasing a carrot. A brown sort of smell hit her nose, and she looked up to see her husband slicing into a loaf of dark bread, just taken from the fire. The combined scents – the stew, the bread, even the few wrinkling apples lying in wait on the tabletop – was suddenly too much.

She was going to be ill.

Stew splashed over the sides of the bowl, scalding her hands as she pushed it across the table. Almost before she realized it, she was at the garden door, gathering up a cloak. Glorfindel followed close on her heels.

"I am going for a walk," Aheryn said.

"Aheryn, wait! Not alone - that cannot be wise – not this near…"

A fine rage burned over her flesh as she wheeled around to face her husband. Words caged for far too long, suddenly bursting forth before she could think to stop them.

"Do you not _think_ that I know how long I've carried _your_ child? Do you not _think_ that I know what may or may not be wise? And do you for a _moment_ think that I do not grow weary of being treated like something so fragile? I am _going_. If your child decides its time to be born while I am out, I am _certain_ you will hear of it."

Still seething, she left the kitchen in a swirl of red hair, Glorfindel watching in silence, a hundred different thoughts lucid in his eyes. The _worst_, Aheryn thought, was that glimmer of understanding.

Damn him, she thought. He did not understand at all.

* * *

To say that Ecthelion had not seemed to expect Aheryn's sudden appearance in his courtyard would have been untrue. On the contrary, her old friend smiled his strange sad smile at her, as though there were no other place she could have possibly belonged at that moment. 

He sat on a carved bench in a shadowed corner of the courtyard, his nephew, Taránë, perched in his lap. Ecthelion was pointing to the first emerging stars, the dark-haired infant on his knee as entranced by his uncle's hand as he was by the stars themselves. It was such a natural scene, a tender moment, that it made Aheryn's heart ache.

As she approached, he set the child down to play in the grass, freeing himself to embrace Aheryn. "And what brings you to my lonely garden this evening, Aheryn?" he asked as they separated, taking her hands to twirl her in a half-dance.

She spun in a slow circle, smiling as she ended back in his arms. "I'm not sure," she said, Ecthelion guiding her back to the bench to sit beside him. "Longing for a kindred spirit, I suppose."

Ecthelion nodded, a few strands of silver hair falling into his eyes. His ever-peaceful gaze pierced to Aheryn's soul. It was unnerving, and she turned away.

"You fought again," he said.

The leaves on the surrounding trees danced in the evening breeze, sounding almost like distant surf. "I'm so tired of it," she whispered. "Tired of being treated like a fragile jewel. He thinks he helps…but…"

She turned back to face Ecthelion. "We should be rejoicing. Instead we spend our days exchanging bitter words. I don't mean to be resentful. But I'm just so tired."

She paused. Ecthelion's nephew had pulled himself to his feet with the edge of the bench. He glanced over at them, smiling, before he lost his balance and sat back down.

"He'll be walking before you know it," Aheryn said. She shook her head. "We were all so excited for Laica and Telemnar."

"And for you and Glorfindel," Ecthelion added. "That both of you conceived so near to one another…Laica was so happy."

"To think…this year began with such promise," she said.

Ecthelion's eyes had grown distant, his countenance heavy. "It has been a bad year. Losing Telemnar…it was…so unexpected. Devastating to all of us, and not least Laica. Her name becomes her more each day. She's…lost, and grows bitter." He paused, glancing at Aheryn. "Not unlike you. Or myself."

A sigh.

"We were never meant to be sundered from the Sea. The Noldor only _think_ they understand exile."

A silence descended upon them as twilight slowly evolving into true evening. Laica's dark haired baby played at their feet, heedless of the shadows growing from beneath the trees. In the far corner of the garden, a firefly winked.

"I do what I can to help her. To care for Taránë. He's to be named as my heir, if she'll have it. Tarannon – Lord of the Gate, protector of the House of the Fountain. It should be so…the title even resembles his name."

"I am sure she'll have it, Ecthelion," Aheryn replied. "It's only right. Laica is not as stoic as she'd have us think. You, of all people, should know that by now. She and your wife were close. Twins do not differ that greatly at heart."

Ecthelion sighed. "I know. It saddens me, to look on how we've changed, how we've wearied. Sometimes I wonder if…if she'd lived through the crossing…what my wife would have become. Sometimes the sorrow seems too much to bear…but then…always, it seems, out of the darkest depths comes a light. A secret joy, easing our years." Almost absentmindedly, he reached out, stroking a lock of Taránë's hair. A frog had emerged from somewhere in the shrubbery, and the little boy was watching its movement with wide eyes. "You still wish Laica to be the one attending the birth?" he asked. "You'll not let another midwife do it instead? I know Turgon wished for one of the palace healers…"

Aheryn laughed, a joyless sound. "One of those fools? The same women that let Aredhel die? No, it will be Laica. It will be someone who studied alongside me."

There was a rustling of fabric as Ecthelion shifted beside her, taking her hand in his. His silver-grey eyes deep and solemn as the midnight sea. A shadow seemed to pass over his features, and something in Aheryn's chest tightened. "Aheryn…" he began, voice little more than a whisper – almost pleading, it seemed, then paused, seeking the words. "Aheryn, she does not know. You realize that. Another healer…another healer might not realize what she was seeing. But Laica will. She will see, Aheryn, and she will know. And what are you prepared to answer her then?"

She jerked away from Ecthelion, and found herself on her feet. Some horrible emotion welled up within her, and erupted over her skin, crawling over her body like some dreadful living thing. Nails digging into her palms, Aheryn paced to the fountain in the center of the courtyard, before wheeling around to face Ecthelion once more, her features contorted with rage.

"I will _tell_ her, Ecthelion, it is none of her concern! None!!" she spat. She has no right – _none, _I tell you,to pass judgment upon me for something she cannot _possibly_ comprehend! And how _dare_ you?? How _dare_ you question me, Ecthelion? You! How…how…" And with that, the deluge of tears she had been holding back for months, burst free from their dam. Sobbing, she turned her back to her old friend. The sorrow was raw, and seemed like a cold fist around her heart. She gasped for breath, and found she could not breathe.

Then, Ecthelion was there with her, his warm, safe arms wrapped around her body. Aheryn felt her legs giving out, and he sank to the ground alongside her. He held her there, rocked her as she wept, whispering comfort to her, singing snatches of old songs, and stroking her fiery hair. Aheryn surrendered to the familiar touch and cried until she had no tears left, and then sat resting her head in his lap, utterly spent.

"Ecthelion…" she whispered after a long moment, not daring to look up at him. "I do not want this child. Laica, perhaps, could rejoice…but not I. It's been too many years…I had made peace at last…and now this…" She paused, drawing a shuddering breath. "I do not want this baby."

The hand that rested on her head was gentle and comforting. "Aheryn," Ecthelion whispered. "Do you think for a moment that you feel anything that Laica did not? Do you believe that you are the only one who has ever had those thoughts or those words pass your lips? I know your sorrow. I know your hurt. But _believe_ me. When you hold this child in your arms for the first time….when this baby is placed, still damp, upon your breast, you will _love _her. And more than that…you will look upon this miraculous…living…_being_…and you will love her with a purer, deeper love than you ever imagined could exist. I promise you, Aheryn, with every fiber of my being I promise you this."

Aheryn drew a deep, shuddering breath. "I pray you're right, Ecthelion." He stroked her hair once more, bent down and kissed the top of her head.

"It will all work itself out, you'll see." He stood then, drew her up along with him. "Now, let's get you back home. Please, Aheryn, rest. I know you do not wish to hear it from me of all persons. But _rest._ This child could be born any moment, and I just…with your history, I worry, that is all."

She nodded, waiting for Ecthelion to retrieve Taránë, who had curled up to sleep among the flowers. Then, taking his arm, Aheryn allowed Ecthelion to walk her home.

* * *

Glorfindel was waiting in the courtyard, feigning interest in a battered volume of lore. As soon as he saw Aheryn approach, he set it aside, coming to meet her with open arms. His hair and skin were ruddy in the light of the fire, and the sight reminded her of another night nigh on an age ago, before sun and moon when they had danced carefree by crashing waves.

Aheryn hesitated, suddenly terribly conscious of her earlier words. But Glorfindel was already before her, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, allowing herself to be folded into her husband's embrace. "I spoke harshly."

"Shh," he replied. "Never mind that. It is past." His words and touch were gentle – familiar and reassuring in the chill evening.

"I should not have spoken so," Aheryn said, pulling back to look her husband in the eyes. "I was wrong, I know it."

Glorfindel shook his head, reached out and wiped the tears from Aheryn's cheeks. Strange. She had not realized she was crying.

"No matter, Aheryn. It is all right," he said. His touch was soft as he leaned in and kissed her, hands twining in her curls.

"I love you, you know that," Aheryn whispered when they separated. Glorfindel smiled. Nodded.

"Of course I do, _melisse_," he replied.

Aheryn felt faint. The courtyard seemed to warp, darken around the edges. She staggered, almost falling, and Glorfindel caught her.

"Aheryn?" he asked. "Are you all right?"

She leaned against him, shaking her head. "I don't feel well." She let herself be guided into the light of the house. Her husband's frown deepened.

"Your color is not good," he said. "Perhaps I should send for Laica."

"No," Aheryn replied. "I'm just tired, I think. It's past time for sleep, after all. We should rest."

* * *

She came to, gasping for breath, drowning in darkness. Pain clenched around her body, wrapping her in a merciless grip. Excruciating…she could not think, and feared if it did not stop she would go mad with the agony. Something low in her belly tightened, and Aheryn was ill, barely managing to lean over the edge of the bed before losing the contents of her stomach.

Vaguely, she was aware of Glorfindel there beside her, holding her as she sobbed, brushing the hair back from her face. Then he was gone, and there was light in the room. A moment later, he stood beside the bed, color draining from his face even as Aheryn glanced up at him, trying to grasp what had happened. Then the walls spun, and she could sit up no longer, pain dragging white-hot claws through her body once more.

She shrieked, collapsing back onto the bed. The blankets beneath her were wet. Soaked. Forcing herself to focus, she looked down.

The bedding was bright red with her blood.

Glorfindel seemed in shock as he pulled the blankets back, dropping them to the floor with a sickening wet sound. The sheets were soaked. Fighting through the pain, Aheryn ran her hand along the inside of her leg. Her fingers came back stained brilliant red.

"I have to get help," Glorfindel said, finally coming to his senses. He stood, unable to decide whether to go or stay. "Elbereth. I'll be back." And he was gone, running from the room, still wearing bloodstained night clothes, leaving Aheryn alone, bleeding out onto the sheets in absolute agony.

Her stomach clenched again, her vision going brilliantly white, then darkening along the edges. The movement within her belly that had been her constant and unwelcome companion for almost a year had stilled. She knew then that the child was dead. Or would be soon. That it was dying within her body, even as she lay there, powerless to stop it. Just like before. And that _this _time, she would go along with her child.

The pain was falling away, her vision spiraling down to pinpoints of light, and then…it was no longer frightening. She was safe and warm. Vaguely Aheryn was aware that somewhere far behind her, her body was beginning to go into convulsions. That she was bleeding out. That soon it would be too late, even for Laica's skilled hands.

It mattered not. Someone was there with her, slipping their hand into hers. The fingers were broad, strong.

His father's hands, she thought.

Aheryn was barely aware of a dim cacophony of voices above her – a woman's, she thought – Laica? Calling for water. Someone was shouting her name, slowly dissolving into tears.

She felt herself slipping away, and let it happen. Let herself drift in a sea of cool grey nothingness, the hand holding hers still firm, reassuring. Far from pain, far from hurt, where she could finally rest.

Somewhere in the distance, a baby cried. The high, piercing wail of a newborn. Voices followed. A woman. Repeating the same words.

"A girl, Aheryn! You have a girl!"

But the words too faded, and she continued drifting. Until the hand fell away from hers. She had just enough time to take in a flash of green eyes, hair gold like the sun. A voice whispering "Not yet."

She felt herself shoved. Pushed backward, pushed down, back into agony, into chaos, into noise and light. Every nerve in her body was alight with pain. She heard cries, and it took her a moment to register that they were not her own.

Who had brought a baby into a place like this?

Aheryn snapped back into full consciousness, realizing _she_ was the one who had. It was not a baby, it was _her_ child. Alive.

Her body burned with pain, and had stared her death in its face. But it did not matter, because now…now she _lived_, and so did her baby.

Her daughter.

Laica's cool blue eyes – still glittering with raw fear – swam before her vision. Her brow was furrowed, countenance grim. There was a streak of blood high on her forehead, undoubtedly where she'd brushed her hair back.

"Aheryn? You can hear me?"

Aheryn shut her eyes, blocking out the raw emotion in her friend's stare. Managed to nod. Laica's slender fingers slipped between her own, the grip strong for such a delicate hand.

"I am _not_ going to let you die, Aheryn." She squeezed her hand once, then released her, turning away. "Move Taránë from the bench, Ecthelion, then help me move her. We've got to get the blood cleaned up."

* * *

Somehow, Laica's son, snatched hastily from his own bed and carried into chaos, had slept through the entire affair, barely stirring as Ecthelion moved him to a soft pallet he'd made on the floor. Aheryn felt herself lifted, Ecthelion's arms strong on her back and behind her knees as he carried to the low-slung couch by the terrace.

As she settled back into the cushions, a familiar hand slipped into hers again. Aheryn opened her eyes to a cascade of hair, golden like the sun, and thought for a moment she had fallen back into her vision. That death had come for her after all. Then she saw the eyes, blue like summer skies, and realized it was her husband who knelt beside her, a bundle of blankets cradled in the crook of his arm.

"We have a little girl," he whispered, leaning in to kiss her. His voice trembled, and Aheryn saw tears pooling in his eyes. He placed the bundle upon her breast, a tiny hand reaching out from the blankets to grasp at the air. "I thought I had lost you."

"Not yet," Aheryn replied. She reached for her daughter's hand, and Glorfindel unwrapped the blankets, peeling back the layers to reveal a tiny, tiny infant.

Her head was covered in wisps of reddish curl Aheryn suspected would turn to gold soon enough. The baby stirred, and opened her eyes. Mother and daughter regarded one another in silence for a long moment. Then the baby yawned, snuggled against her mother's breast.

Aheryn smiled, caressing her baby's cheek. Outside, she could hear the wind blowing through the tall trees in the courtyard. A sudden gust swept in from the terrace, the curtains billowing, dancing in its wake. For the first time in what seemed an age, there was no dark chill to the breeze. She closed her eyes, drifting away once more into the peaceful grey nothing.

Some time later, Aheryn awoke and found herself tucked back into her bed, fresh linens cool against her skin. Laica had then mixed a terrible draught, to help, so she said, combat the weakness from all the blood Aheryn had lost. Though she'd had to choke it down, she found that afterward she did feel better, no longer on the verge of passing out. Ecthelion and Laica had gone down to the kitchen to clean-up, leaving Glorfindel and Aheryn alone in the bedroom with their newborn daughter. Then Laica had returned, carrying another pitcher-full of the draught. She'd smiled at Glorfindel, though the expression, to Aheryn, was empty.

"Ecthelion wants to speak to you," she said to Glorfindel.

Despite a look of momentary puzzlement, Glorfindel nodded. "Of course." He turned his attention to Aheryn. "Will the baby be all right with you?"

Aheryn nodded, glancing down to where her daughter slept on the coverlet beside her. Laica had placed Taránë into the bed too while she finished cleaning and the two children were now snuggled against each other.

"She sleeps," she said. "Go. We won't be long, I am certain." Glorfindel nodded. Kissed his wife, and then was gone.

Laica watched his retreating back, staying still until certain he was out of hearing range. She was silent as she filled a glass with the draught she'd mixed, handing it to Aheryn. Like an obedient child, Aheryn took a small sip.

"No more children, Aheryn," Laica said suddenly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. She frowned, tracing the embroidered coverlet with her fingers, running them over her sleeping son's toes. "You are too… damaged. There can be no more…"

Aheryn closed her eyes, sinking into her pillow. _Not this conversation at long last_, she thought. _I shall answer any questions tomorrow, just let me rest tonight_.

"So be it, then," Aheryn replied turning to stroke her daughter's cheek. "I am far too tired for this."

But Laica still spoke. "…Not that I believe you desire any more. Not that I believe that you – even for a moment she occupied your womb – wanted this one"

Aheryn laughed bitterly, tears beginning to leak past closed eyes to trace pathways down her cheeks. "Am I to thank you, then, for not belaboring the point?"

"When?" she asked. Aheryn opened her eyes, knowing that her gaze would be as cold as her words.

"Do not play the fool, Laica." Aheryn replied. "You fled that burning hell with me. You saw my fall."

"Who?" The word hung frozen in the air for a long moment.

"Me," Aheryn finally replied. Laica laughed, short, harsh.

"I do not believe you."

Aheryn shook her head. "Then do not believe what you know well to be the truth. There were no others aboard the ships who could have – would have. The child was already dead. I took the instrument into my own hand – my _own hand, _and did the task myself, finishing what had been started. _I_ did it. There was no other."

Laica shook her head. "Then your hands are as stained as those of the Noldor. This…_this_…" she gestured to Aheryn's body. "Was butchery."

"Perhaps I wanted to die as well," she whispered, sinking back against her pillows. "Perhaps that was exactly what I wanted."

"And you nearly succeeded!" Laica cried, rising suddenly. "Aheryn, you _should_ have died tonight! As much blood…you…Aheryn, even now I do not know how you still live!"

Aheryn closed her eyes. Remembered the firm grasp of that terribly familiar hand within her own. The blue-green eyes that had – so briefly – filled her mind. "Not yet," she murmured.

"What?" Laica asked sharply.

"It was not time yet," Aheryn replied, fingering her infant's pale curls. "He wanted me to live."

Laica sighed as she sank back down onto the bed beside Aheryn. "You were gone, Aheryn," she murmured. "I'd said nothing to Glorfindel or Ecthelion. But you were gone. There was so much blood I could not see past it to stop the flow. And then it slowed…just enough for me to do what needed to be done. But when I had finished, I realized that…that…" she drew a deep breath, met Aheryn's gaze. "I realized that the flow had only let up because your heart had stopped. You were gone. I turned to tell your husband and then….you breathed. Came to with a cry." She paused, wiping at unshed tears. "You died, Aheryn. But someone sent you back. As you seem to know." She shook her head. "I don't know if I could have stood to lose you too, Aheryn." She paused, seemed to gather her composure.

"Have you and Glorfindel decided upon a given name?" Laica asked. Her demeanor had softened, and she now eyed Aheryn and the baby with gentle eyes. A storm, calmed at last.

"Melia," Aheryn replied, tracing the sleeping infant's ear with her finger. Laica leaned forward, moving the blanket so she could see the girl better.

"You intend to use the High Speech?" she asked. Aheryn nodded. "Melia," Laica repeated. "A love that is subtle yet strong. The invisible ties that bind. But also suggesting…a shining quality…gossamer caught in sunlight."

"Yes," Aheryn said. "Also a love that one finds oneself unexpectedly and permanently caught up in. A willing victim of a spider web."

A moment of quiet understanding passed between the two women. Laica smiled – a smile that held sorrow like rain. "It is a perfect name. And what about yourself? Have you given her a mother-name?"

"Mellúrëa," Aheryn replied, whispering the name. "Because my love will always be overcast with sorrow for what I have lost, even as I rejoice in the life that I have now been given."

Laica squeezed Aheryn's hand gently. She regarded the baby – Melia – for a few moments more before kissing her soft cheek and covering her with the blanket once more. Aheryn closed her eyes as Laica leaned in and kissed her once on the forehead as well.

"So little," Laica said, looking down at the two sleeping children. Indeed, beside Taránë, Melia looked painfully tiny. Almost fragile, like a baby bird. "She'll grow, though. A few years and you'll never know she was so small."

"I'm not so sure," Aheryn said. "I hope for her sake you are right. But I think she will always be smaller than the other children."

Taránë stirred, seeming almost to wake as he rolled over onto his stomach, placing his thumb into his mouth. The other arm he slung out, draping it over Melia's back. Aheryn smiled.

"I do not want to move them," she said, settling down in the bed and closing her eyes. "They sleep so peacefully. Though we are probably starting a bad habit."

"It is all right," Laica said, standing to drape another coverlet over Aheryn. "I want to keep an eye on you the rest of the night. I shall pull up the bench and sleep beside the bed. The babies can stay where they are and Glorfindel can sleep on your other side. It will be just like old times."

Aheryn had already fallen asleep by the time Glorfindel, Ecthelion, and Laica returned. She stirred briefly when Glorfindel slid beneath the blankets beside her, but was too exhausted to wake fully. Though she'd intended to pull up a chair, Laica found herself in the large bed as well, curled next to her son.

Ecthelion perched on the edge of the bed, and for a while the three talked in hushed voices of old times, of days before the shadow, before sun and moon, before Valinor when they four had wandered the shores of Cuiviénen free and unafraid.

They had paused then, suddenly, painfully aware of the missing members of their group. Of Telemnar, wasted away after Nírnaeth Arnoediad, passing a few short days before Laica knew of the life stirring in her belly. Of Calima – Ecthelion's wife and Laica's twin sister. Of Elemmírë, his daughter who perished with her mother Calima during the crossing of the Helcaraxë.

No joy without sorrow, Laica thought. As it had always been.

Glorfindel had dropped off into sleep, exhaustion finally winning over. Ecthelion had stood, but Laica stopped him. And so he too had curled into the bed, wrapping his arms around her, falling into sleep even as the first rays of sun broke in the east.

The four slept soundly through the morning, the women awakening once to feed their children before curling back into bed. They were family. They had always been family.

It was the day of New Year's Eve, and for a few brief moments, all was as it should have been.


	3. Chapter 3

**Shards of Stone**

**By SarahFish**

**Chapter 3: Interlude**

Time passes quickly in Gondolin. Winter melts away into spring, life re-emerging throughout the gardens followed by New Year celebrations. Spring swells into summer, which in turn fades to fall, autumn leaves paving the streets with gold, orange, and red. Fall to winter, repeating endlessly until the years blend together in a whirlwind of color, life, death, joy, and sorrow.

That first New Year after Melia's birth finds Aheryn weak to attend celebrations at the palace. She and Glorfindel, Laica and Ecthelion hold their own makeshift celebrations in the courtyard gardens. Before they know, the conversation has slipped from Sindarian to Quenya. From Quenya to Telerin, and to languages older still. Taránë and Melia sleep through most of the festivities, curled together upon a pallet Ecthelion has spread on the grass.

Three years have passed, and it is New Years again. The garden celebrations have turned to tradition, where they retire after the celebrations at court. Melia and Taránë chase fireflies through the shadows, each feeding off the others' energy until they both collapse, exhausted, amongst the flower.

Another year and Aheryn's finds both her predictions have come to pass – Melia has started lessons at the palace and is still far smaller than the other children her age. She and Taránë still sleep best when curled together as they did when they were infants.

Time passes. The children are still inseparable. Where one goes, the other is not far behind. All agree that they are good for each other, if prone to encouraging the other in mischief. Melia is quick to cheer Taránë when Laica's moods turn dark near the anniversary of Telemnar's death, and Taránë is quick to jump to Melia's defense when their friend Rûndil's teasing words cut too deeply into her pride.

Then the year comes when Taránë suddenly shoots up in height, his shoulders broadening, his frame dwarfing Melia's, whose growth spurt would not follow until the next year. She never does catch up to the same height as the other girls in her lessons.

New Year's once more. Melia is heartbroken, upset that their parents have finally told them that she and Taránë cannot fall asleep together any more. They are no longer little children after all. When they still fall asleep curled up with one another in a dark corner, Glorfindel stays his words, letting the indiscretion pass.

The next year, when he finds them sleeping innocently in Melia's bed on New Year's Morning where they had collapsed, exhausted from festivities...he does not.

Melia and Taránë hover perilously on the fine line between childhood and adulthood. This year, they join the other young nobles in the palace courtyard on New Year's Eve. What starts as an attempt at a dignified celebration quickly dissolves into rambunctiousness as the wine begins to flow. Soon the young adults are laughing and singing, dancing and playing under the stars.

Rûndil steals Melia away from dancing with Taránë, but they have both had too much wine, and she trips on the edge of his robe, falling into a fountain. She emerges laughing, and Taránë helps her out of the heavy wet over robe, sliding his own over her shoulders.

Melia and Taránë drop off into sleep, curled up on a stone bench. Taránë wakes when Ecthelion comes to find them to walk them home, but Melia is too far gone. So Ecthelion picks her up, carries her to her father's house where she is tucked into bed.

Taránë is asleep soon after arriving home. His last vague thought before drifting off is that this is the first year he and Melia will not wake up together on New Year's Day. Then he falls into dream and remembers no more.


	4. Chapter 4

**Shards of Stone**

**By SarahFish**

**Chapter 4: A Harsh and Present Reality **

_Every morning – or what passed as morning in the eternal twilight of the Tower – Kamalla dressed in front of the large mirror in the antechamber of her bedroom. The glass was dark, and her image, though reflected true, was trapped in nighttime and shadows._

_Some mornings, her choice of clothing was left to her own devices. But most, such as this, she arose to find a gown already waiting in the chamber. Often new. Always elaborate and horrifyingly beautiful. _

_At first she thought the dress a new one. But as she picked up the heavily beaded blue-grey garment – it was the color of stormy seas – she recognized it, and screamed. Shaking, she hurled the dress to the polished stone floor as though it were something alive and dangerous. _

_Oh she knew this one. It had been years, but she had not forgotten. Oh yes. She knew this dress, and hated it. The very thought of letting it slide along her flesh again brought bile burning up her throat. _

_A knock at the door, and it opened, a petite dark haired girl scurrying in, eyes lowered. " Forgive me," she said, "But I heard you cry out. Is there something the matter, lady?" She risked a glance up at Kamalla, and her dark eyes were filled with apprehension._

"_I cannot wear this dress," Kamalla said. "Misao, I cannot!"_

_The servant looked horrified. "But, lady…the Lord Annatar was most insistent that it be this gown. He said that I was to tell you to keep mindful of the date."_

_Kamalla let out a choked laugh. "I know the date. I need no reminder of that."_

_Misao continued. "He said also, lady, to keep mindful of the freedoms you've been allowed. And that if the lady wishes to taste freedom of any sort, she will wear the dress as he demands."_

_At that thought, Kamalla's stomach lurched. She swallowed. "Go, Misao. Tell the lord that I will see to him shortly. Just…leave me, please. I need nothing else."_

"_As the lady wishes," Misao replied, bowing. The door closed behind her soundlessly._

_Turning, Kamalla stared at the crumpled heap of fabric on the floor. To her more threatening than anything with fang or claw. With heart racing, she knelt, reached out for the dress…hesitated…then, laughing bitterly at her own fright, snatched up the garment._

_As she stood and let her robe drop to the floor, she made a quick list of her possible tasks for the day. She would be lucky if she got an hour's time alone. _

_The gown slithered over her skin as she pulled it on. It was far heavier than she remembered. There would be no time, she thought, straining to reach the hooks that fastened the back of the garment, to check the dungeons. Kamalla did not like that idea. Melia had been in and out of lucidity for the past week. For three days, she'd been coherent, recognizing Kamalla, her speech growing stronger each day. Then on the fourth, she was gone again, lost inside her own head. Her speech disjointed, jumping from one time and place to another. The fifth had brought no change, but yesterday she had been back once more. _

_Kamalla finished with the hooks, and stared into the mirror. _

_The blue-grey fabric echoed some of the color in her strange eyes, making them stand out from her reflection. The gown swept low across her chest, leaving her shoulders almost bare. The hem pooled around her feet, and the thousands of tiny gemstones on the fabric glittered in the candlelight. The worst, she knew, was yet to come. Slowly she turned, looking over her shoulder to see her back reflected in the mirror. The gown plunged low, leaving her back completely exposed, save for her shining curtain of oil-dark hair. She shuddered, and turned back around. Her hair would have to go up. Lord Annatar would have it no other way. Oh no. Not in this gown. Not this day of all days._

_There was a knock and her door opened once more. Tevildo strode in, moving with his strange cat-like grace. _

_"Kamalla, you play with fire," he said. "Annatar grows impatient."_

_She ignored him, her body moving of its own accord as she picked up the brush and worked her hair up atop her head, pinning it carefully into place. Stray pieces kept escaping her grasp, and she fought back tears as she struggled to put it into place._

_Tevildo made a move as though to come forward and help, but stopped, catching himself mid-step. _

_A moment longer and Kamalla managed to pin everything atop her head. Finished, she stepped back, examining the final product. At the sight, her stomach lurched again, and she knew she was going to be ill._

_She made it to the washroom, thankfully, before being sick. When it had passed, she forced a sip of water down her throat. She had been far too long this morning, and she knew she would pay dearly for making Lord Annatar wait._

_Tevildo was waiting when she returned. He sat in a polished chair before her mirror, playing with a jeweled comb. It was a pretty thing that Kamalla did not recall having seen before. He came to her, and carefully placed the comb into her braids before reaching to cup her cheek. He stopped a hair's breadth from touching her skin._

"_I touched the comb, not you," he whispered. Kamalla nodded. She understood. It was a fine line they had trodden for years. "Come," he said. "Lord Annatar awaits."_

_Her steps were, as always, coldly determined as she followed Tevildo across the antechamber towards the heavy double-doors. She pointedly avoided looking at her reflection again. Yet…as she opened the door, she paused, some terrible, bitter curiosity taking over. She glanced over her shoulder once more, meeting the gaze of her reflected self, before dropping it to her back._

_The Eye, burned into her flesh, spreading red and black across the entirety of her back and shoulders, returned the gaze._

_Sick at heart, Kamalla turned and left, the slamming doors echoing coldly through the dark stone halls._


	5. Chapter 5

**Shards of Stone**

**By SarahFish**

**Chapter 5: New Year's Morning**

Dawn was a most unwelcome event. Hardly, it seemed, had Melia closed her eyes than the sun came, snaking beams of light through her windows. She reached for Taránë, ready to prod him in the ribs, glad for once that she had awakened before him on New Years Day. But then she realized that she was in her own bed, despite having fallen asleep with him at the palace the night before. For a few moments longer she feigned sleep, trying to ignore as the day grew bright. Briefly she considered skipping her morning lessons, but she and Taránë had sneaked away from classes hardly a week before and she doubted their presence would go unnoticed again. Birds began chattering, holding a loud, excited conversation in the courtyard below, and she resigned herself to wakefulness.

When she arose she found that she was still wearing Taránë's over robe from the previous night. She wondered what had happened to hers, and if her fall into the fountain had completely ruined the silk.

Somehow, during her brief sleep her hair had also fallen from the plaits Aheryn had so carefully woven the evening before, and now hung knotted and tangled to her waist. Already impatient with the day, Melia decided it was not worth the effort to comb, and tied it back with a cord. Glancing down at the borrowed robe, huge on her tiny frame, she decided it was good enough. If she had to endure lessons, she would at least do so in relative comfort.

Taránë was waiting for her in the garden when she staggered outside. He looked exhausted as well, though in better shape than she herself. That he was fully dressed in clothes that fit contributed a great deal.

"Criminal," he said, falling into step beside her as they walked down the hill. "Classes on the first day of the new year. Who ever heard of such a thing?"

Melia shook her head, then stopped, her pulse pounding at her temples. Too much wine the night before, too little water this morning. "You act as though this is the first time."

Around them, evidence of prior night's festivities lay apparent in the streets. Flowers covered the pavement, colorful banners hung from balconies, fluttering in the early morning breeze. What had been lovely the night before was all too much on just a few short hours sleep.

"If you recall," Taránë said, "Last year was spent in your gardens with a scant two glasses of wine and a vicious game of_ Rihta, _after which, exhausted by the day's celebrations, we curled up to sleep in your bed where we discovered by your father when he and your mother returned from the palace."

Melia winced. "I'd forgotten about that."

"I hadn't," Taránë said. He paused to pick up a golden flower from the pavement, looking sidelong at Melia. "Are you wearing my formal over robe to class?"

"What of it?" she asked, glancing down at herself.

"Oh nothing," Taránë said. "Just wondering if that was intentional." He frowned, twirling the flower between his fingers before sighing and tucking it behind Melia's ear.

"There you go," he said. "It draws the attention away from your hair."

"Hey!" Melia cried, punching him in the shoulder. Taránë grinned.

"Come on!" he said. "We can fight it out after lessons. At least now you're decent. But if we if we do not hurry we'll be late."

Melia sighed. "You're right. Go...go..." she waved him on. "I'm following." She gathered up the hem of her borrowed robe before starting off after him at a jog.

* * *

Morning lessons were spent in a small room off Turgon's main library, overseen by Lord Galdor. Most days, they were enjoyable. Galdor spoke passionately about history, philosophy, and strategy. His energy was contagious, turning otherwise dry material into bearable subjects.

That Melia and Taránë could often sneak away unnoticed was simply an added benefit.

When they arrived in the library chamber, it was with no small amount of relief that Melia noted Lord Galdor looked every bit as bleary eyed as she felt. Glancing around at the other students, she could not help but envy the younger ones whose new year celebrations had been far tamer than her own. A quick look at the familiar faces from last night confirmed that she was not the only one who felt that way.

Across the room, Rûndil, Lord Egalmoth's son, caught her eye. He grinned at she and Taránë, tucked the stack of books he'd been gathering under his arm, then came over to meet them.

Melia gritted her teeth. The long-standing childhood rivalry between she and Rûndil had finally, within the past year, resolved itself into a tentative friendship. Yet old grudges still found ways to boil over, and she found they had to trod carefully around one another. Especially after he'd pushed her into the fountain the night before.

"Five years ago, and I still remember the day after my first over-exuberant new year," Rûndil said, joining them in their corner. "The two of you are in far better shape than I was." He patted Melia on the back, and she breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "Lord Galdor looks like he had a night of it though. Should make for easy lessons today."

"What are you doing here?" Taránë asked. "I thought you'd be helping your father."

He pointed at the stack of books. "Class material. I'd hoped he'd let me off today, but he's starting the little ones on practical strategy. For me, it's not so much teaching as it is fetching and carrying."

Lord Galdor cleared his throat, and the murmur of voices stilled. Rûndil adjusted the stack of books once more, mouthed the word 'enjoy,' then ducked out of the library.

"Today, we will be reading," Galdor said, drowning out the remnants of conversation. "There are numerous volumes on Nirnaeth Arnediad. Find one and begin work on it. Questions will follow in a week." He sat heavily in a chair, resting his head on his palm. "No discussions amongst yourselves please. I would like for us to stay as quiet as possible."

There were a few minutes of movement and more than a few relieved faces as all the students selected their books, then, as they all settled in, a silence broken only by the occasional turning of a page. Lord Galdor was not the only one appreciative of the quiet environment.

* * *

Melia made a serious effort to read the volume Taránë had brought her. But the hand in which it was written was spidery and thin, difficult to decipher in the library's dim light. The words in her book began to run together, and she could no longer force her eyes to focus on them. Her head was pounding, the smoke from the fire making her throat raw.

Hoping more light would help, Melia crawled into a corner window, providing a seductively close view of the courtyard. Taránë followed her lead, propping himself on the opposite ledge. Once more, she tried to read the volume. But the sun was now too bright, glaring upon her pages, making it, if anything, more difficult than before. Outside a breeze picked up, sneaking in through the window to tease her hair. It was far too beautiful a morning to be spent in the stuffy library.

"We've got to get out of here," she whispered, closing her book to look over at Taránë.

He had fallen asleep, dark hair half-obscuring his face.

Trying to be discreet, lest she attract Galdor's attention, she prodded him with her foot until he cracked an eye. "Let's go," she said, gesturing out the window.

Taránë glanced at Lord Galdor. His eyes were closed, fingers at his temples. "All right," he nodded.

Melia slipped out the window, lowering herself down into the courtyard. She'd not expected the grass to still be slick from the morning dew and she lost her footing, the back of her head connecting with the ground. It sent her vision spinning, her head pounding, and she lay there, dew soaking through her borrowed robe while she regained her bearings. A robe she now noticed was the same color as the sky.

Taránë dropped down beside her, helped her back to her feet.

"The very definition of grace, as always," she said, bowing.

Pleased in their deviance, despite Melia's rough landing, they hurried off across the courtyard towards a lesser-used corridor which would take them outside the palace grounds. Once safely out of earshot, they allowed themselves a laugh.

"I thought I would go mad," Melia said, her voice echoing in the marble hallway far louder than she'd intended. Taránë winced, motioned for her to lower her speech.

"A dreadful day to spend in studies," he whispered. "I think a practical lesson in strategy would be much more appreciated."

"Or a nap," Melia said. "But where should we go? My Amil will be in our home. And I am not feeling clever enough to explain our sudden appearance."

"Let's go to my uncle's gardens. He will be out at the Gates until late," Taránë replied. "We should take the southern road. We're less likely to be caught."

"What do you two think you are doing?!"

Melia jumped at the voice, mind racing to find an excuse when a strong pair of arms suddenly wrapped around her waist, lifting her into the air. She caught a glimpse of Maeglin's dark hair as he tossed her over his shoulder, spinning her around which immediately set her head to pounding again . He dropped the bag he carried in order to twirl her better.

"You should be ashamed! Are you not supposed to be in lessons, _osellë_?" Laughing, he placed her back down again. The room spun for a few moments longer before stabilizing.

"Are you not supposed to refrain from mining in the sundering hills, _toron_?" Melia asked, rubbing at her temples. She picked up the heavy satchel he had dropped while grabbing her and handed it to him. "Really, Maeglin, you are going to be caught one of these days. That'll bring far more trouble than our skipping lessons ever will."

"Perhaps," he said, pulling the bag back over his shoulder. "But it seems I am much better at not being caught than you, my fellow deviants." He winked conspiratorially at them. "But I won't say a word if you don't."

"Not a word," Melia replied.

"There's my girl," he said, ruffling her hair. "Here's to ill-gotten freedom. Give your mother my love!" With that, he turned and left as quickly as stealth allowed, sparing them one last wave before disappearing around a corner.

Beside her, Taránë sighed, pushing a few strands of dark hair out of his eyes. "I do not like the way he speaks to you these days," he said finally, staring down the way Maeglin had left.

"What do you mean? He speaks no differently than he always has, Taránë. He's like my brother, you know that more than anyone," Melia said. Taránë shook his head.

"Never mind," he said. "One of these days though, that'll all come down on our heads."

Melia shrugged. "He's been sneaking away under Turgon's nose longer than we've been sneaking away from lessons. What harm could possibly come of it?" She glanced over at her friend, but his silvery-gray eyes were distant and he did not reply.

* * *

_A note from the author - _

_As you may have noticed, there are several different writing styles within the body of the story itself. I believe this is going to make for a stronger finished product overall, once this is completed. The goal behind the usage is to clearly differentiate between the concurrent plots, as well as mature along with the characters. There is, I feel, in this chapter a sort of informality between the characters, which is intentional. The mood should be light, innocent – the image of those last precious remnants of childhood. Hopefully the writing reflects this._

_As M + T grow over the next few chapters and the writing develops further, feedback would be greatly appreciated in regards to whether this works or does not work._


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